


Leaving Dean

by savingpeoplehuntingthings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Minor Violence, Sam leaving for Stanford, Some strong language but not much, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 13:05:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savingpeoplehuntingthings/pseuds/savingpeoplehuntingthings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam left for Stanford on Dean's watch in the middle of the night while John was out working a case. Later, Sam would see that it was one of the best nights of his life - it was his heaven after all. He was free, finally free! But at the time, all he could think about was Dean. He'd left Dean. His Dean. His brother, all alone. Alone to face the fury that would inevitably ensue when his father found out what had happened.</p><p>Oh god what had he done?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leaving Dean

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd . Let me know if you spot any mistakes or want me to change anything.

His father's words hit him hard, harder even, than the punch to his jaw. They stood, inches apart in the dimly lit room, breathing heavily. Sam's mind replayed what he'd just heard. "You can't have the life you want Sam! Not ever!"

His eyes flitted over to his brother, standing silently in the corner. Dean looked so young; so afraid, and in that moment, not at all like the strong older brother he looked up to.

"Dean…" His voice was barely above a whisper. Dean looked at the floor, shaking his head. "Dean, c'mon…" Sam pleaded.

"'M sorry Sammy."

"Dean you're my broth-"

John's deep, drunken voice broke in. "And I'm your father Sam!"

A small laugh played on Sam's lips. "You're not a father to me."

Instantly, he could see the anger boil in his father's face. The older man raised his fist at Sam, but froze when he heard his other son shouting. "No!"

Dean marched over to where the other two were standing and tugged on his father's arm, still in midair.

"Dad no! Stop it both of you! You're both drunk and tired and we can figure this out tomorrow!" His angry tone made Sam flinch.

"There's not gonna be a tomorrow Dean," Sam said bitterly.

His brother drew himself up, his green eyes awash with fear. "No Sammy, you're stayin' right here."

"And who are you to tell me that?" Sam bellowed.

"I'm your brother!"

"Yeah, and a minute ago you wouldn't defend me against _him._ " Sam snarled, glaring at his father. Dean didn't reply. "You're more like a prison guard Dean, you know that?"

The comment hurt, and Sam could see it. "No Sammy…"

"He keeps you safe Sam!" spat John.

"AND WHO SAYS I WANT KEEPING SAFE?" Sam yelled, his voice growing louder with every syllable he uttered. "I'm not a kid any more Dean."

"It's my job." The reply was simple; said quietly in comparison.

"It's a two way thing Dean! You wanna take care of me but it only works if I want to be taken care of."

An angry mutter came from the corner of the motel room where John had stormed off to. "You don't have to want anything."

"See dad? This is why I talk to Dean!! Because he'll at least listen! At least he doesn't treat me like some kid who doesn't know any better."

Dean glanced at the floor, shaking his head once again. "I'm-"

"Shut up Dean!" John's voice cut the silence. Then, "Look here son…" at this Sam's eye's darkened. "You think you can run away to college and live this normal, happy, apple-pie life, but you can't. Hunting _is_ your life and it's always gonna catch up with you, sooner or later. You're gonna get people killed because as soon as you have a connection with someone, they're used as a weakness against you. You of all people should realise that." The words were slow and measured, each one chosen carefully.

"Not me dad. I can make it work."

The calm tone was gone in an instant. "No one can make it work Sam!"

"And how do you know that, huh?"

"I know!" John bellowed. He knew, he definitely knew. Mary had tried to have a normal life. It had worked for a while, for years even. But then she'd gotten killed by the thing: that thing they were still hunting eighteen years later. John was not going to stop until it was dead. He knew how dangerous it was for a hunter to leave the life. This is what John wanted to say to Sam, but the drink and the lack of sleep had always prevented it. And the pride… the stupid pride that he could see in his boys, the Winchester pride that they'd inherited. He couldn't, and wouldn't ever tell his sons this.

Sam rolled his eyes, mumbling some insult that the others didn't quite catch. Suddenly, John saw red, infuriated by Sam's attitude. His fist came into contact with Sam's cheekbone, making it swell almost immediately. Tears stung the youngest Winchester's eyes and he held his cheek in pain, looking at the ground. It _did_ hurt, but Sam was no fool. A punch to the face wasn't enough to bring him down. He was just waiting for the right moment to strike. When John, in his drunken state, thought that he'd won; that he'd hurt Sam enough, Sam would retaliate.

He landed a swift upper cut to his father's chin a few seconds later, making him stumble backwards. By the time John regained his footing, Dean was standing in front of his little brother, his feet wide apart and his arms by his side. John looked up and a sinister, although slightly surprised chuckle escaped his lips: "Dean for god's sake."

Dean's voice was menacingly low. "Don't lay a finger on Sam."

"Dammit Dean I can fight my own battles!" Said Sam, shoving his brother out the way and moving closer to his father so he can feel his liquor stained breath on his face.

"Oh really?" John snarled. Without warning, he elbowed his son in the face and could feel the bone beneath Sam's eyebrow crack a little. Sam ducked the next punch that was thrown at him and delivered a strong fist to his father's stomach, making John grunt in pain. Now that he was bent over, Sam had the advantage. Already taller than his father, rolled his shoulders back and ran at him, tackling the man to the ground. John lay face down on the dirty carpet, panting. Sam was about to bury his fist in the back of his father's neck but Dean grabbed his arm.

"DAD! SAM! STOP!" he yelled.

"Sam you can't escape this life." John said, his tone more reserved and maybe just a tad sad.

Sam was almost pleading. "Okay then let me help! I'm good enough, you both know that!"

"I've told you: no!"

"Why dad? I'm old enough to help! Why d'you always have to keep me in the dark about this?" Sam's voice grew louder.

"It's not safe!" John growled, glancing at Dean.

"IT'D BE SAFER IF I KNEW!" Sam shouted bitterly.

His father's was abrupt. "No Sam."

"Where we going huh Dad? What're we huntin'? You gonna tell me or should I ask Dean?"

"Sammy I don't know either." Dean said, grabbing onto Sam's arm to prevent him from hitting something: the table maybe, or perhaps their father. Dean could never tell.

"Daddy's blind little soldier, yeah Dean? So you don't tell him either? We can help. You just need to tell us what we're up against!" Sam pointed at his brother and then at himself. "You can't treat us like kids anymore, dad."

"Sammy just leave it alone." Dean begged.

"Dean, no! I don't understand why you trust him so much!"

"Because he's our dad!" Dean retorted, growing redder in the face.

Sam muttered, "Some fucked up dad he is." It was quiet, but loud enough for his father to hear.

John raised his eyebrows but didn't comment. Instead he grumbled, "I keep telling you boys, I don't want you to have this life, believe me I don't but-"

"So why can't I leave?" Sam asked, almost choking with exasperated sobs.

"Because it's a hell of a lot safer if we stick together! We'll find this son of a bitch and kill it and then you can go okay?" John explained, though he was in no mood for explaining anything in a calm, collected manner.   

"But when are we gonna find it dad? We got no leads, no clues, no nothin'. We've had nothin' for all my life! It can't take eighteen years to find a monster."

"We'll find it." Dean said quietly.

"How Dean?"

Dean sat down heavily on the bed, tired of the argument they'd had so many times. "We just will okay, would ya leave it alone?"

"NO! I don't understand the blind faith you have in _him_!" Sam threw his hands in the air.

"I'm just being a good son!" Dean bellowed, standing back up again.

Sam moved closer to his brother, placing his hands roughly on his chest and shoving him backwards. "No, you're being a stupid bastard who can't see the bigger picture here!"

John pushed them apart, saying, "What bigger picture Sam?"

"Life, maybe?" Sam snapped.

"We find the thing; we kill the little son of a bitch. That's it."

"We've been doing that my whole life dad!" Sam pointed at himself, his hands shaking with fury.

"Yeah? That's because it killed your mother!"

"So?" He replied, his voice wavering. He regretted saying it the moment the word left his lips.

John and Dean froze.

"I don't remember mom. I wouldn't know what she looked like if it wasn't for pictures, but do you think she'd want us travelling around the country looking for a way to avenge her death, eighteen years later?"

"Don't you talk about your mother like that!" John thundered.

"She wouldn't want this for us!"

"How would you know?" their father retorted. "You just said you didn’t remember her."

"Well I'm _sorry_ I was only six months old." Sam snarled sassily. "I'm _sorry_ I can't remember her. But I know she wouldn't have wanted this because this is the worst life anyone could _ever_ have!"

"You really think so?" John asked

The reply was bitter. "Yeah."

"Do you know how much I do for you boys?"

"No, dad, I don't see it. Please, enlighten me." The attitude was back, and Dean saw his father redden with anger once more, so he stepped in front of his brother. Sam sighed, but this time, did nothing about it. He too was tired of this never ending argument.

"I keep you safe, everyday. I taught you how to defend yourselves. I taught you how to _survive_."

"We survive off credit card scams dad! No father should ever teach that to his sons! You gave me a .45 when I was nine because I was scared of the thing in my closet!"

"What was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know. But anything, anything but that."

John scoffed a little.

"You know why I don't know? Because you never taught me. You should be my role model, dad. And you're not."

"Why's that? I'm Dean's aren’t I?" Dean looked up from the floor at the sound of his name. "Kid wears my clothes, listens to the same music, talks like I talk. Why'm I not yours?" John seemed a little offended.

"Uhh, you're never here! I hardly see you, and if I do, it's with a gun in your hand killing something. Hardly a good role model material. Or I'm taking orders from you like you're some kind or military officer! I might as well have grown up with Dean as my father," Sam finished bitterly.

"Well, it is Dean's job to keep you safe."

"You know, he's a better father than you'll ever be!" Sam snapped, thumping the table.

"I'm hunting, Sam. I can't be around all the time."

"Why?" Sam asked, his voice dangerously low.

"To save people's lives!" John shouted, following his son and banging the table loudly.

"Why?" Sam repeated.

"Bec-"

"Why does it have to be us? Why do we have to save everybody?" Sam demanded, becoming more aggressive with every word.

"Because no-one else will!" John lashed out.

Sam rolled his eyes again, and his father moved closer, his fists clenched. "YOU KNOW WHAT? I'M LEAVING AND YOU CAN'T STOP ME!" Sam's voice was near a scream.

"IF YOU WALK OUT THAT DOOR BOY, DON'T YOU _EVER_ COME BACK! YOU HEAR ME?" John yelled. They were about to start throwing punches again, but Dean shoved them roughly apart.

"You're just gonna get yourself killed!" John muttered as Sam turned his back to pick up his few belongings from the bed.

"At least it's better than this." he grumbled, unclenching his fists and looking at the ground, not showing his fear.

There was a long silence as they took in what Sam had just said. The radio broke the silence. It was tuned to the local police's channel and through the crackles they could make out something about another victim who had been found in the nearby woods. Dean reached for his coat and gun, but John stopped him. "Stay here. Make sure he doesn't leave."

Dean put his stuff down on the table and stood up straight. "Yes sir." He was a well trained soldier.

When the door had slammed, Sam turned, clutching his open bag to his chest and breathing heavily.

Dean uttered the only words he could manage. "Please Sammy."

Sam shook his head and turned back to his bed, stuffing the last couple of items into the duffel bag. Then he zipped it shut. He was done. Packed. He could leave right now if he wanted to. But the break in his brother's voice and the terrified shine in his eyes kept him in the room. Instead, Sam dropped the bag by his bed, along with his shoes and his gun and torch on the bedside table. He could leave now, or at any time, and Dean knew it. Again, he repeated his plea, but Sam ignored it, slowly getting ready for bed.

Dean didn't shower because that would mean taking his eyes off Sam. There was only one way out of the motel room, as the bathroom had no window and the windows in the bedroom were locked, the key in a little box with the receptionist. Dean sat with his back against the door, Sam's only exit, with a bottle of beer in one hand and his gun in the other. He would never shoot the person to whom he was closest. He would never shoot his Sammy and they both knew it.

Sam emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist and walked over to his bag. He dug inside and found a pair of boxers, which he slipped on. He could have left it there, sleeping in his underwear like he usually did, but this time he pulled on some comfy jeans, a shirt and some socks. He laid his jacket out then climbed into bed. He was ready to leave in an instant, and Dean didn't trust him enough to go to sleep himself, so he stayed by the door.

"You really wanna leave Sammy?" Sam was silent, lying in bed facing away from his brother. "Once you're gone, you're gone. Dad's gonna be mad Sammy. He won't want you back in this family."

"That's what I want, Dean," Sam said quietly, closing his eyes.

Dean wanted Sam to escape this crappy life, he really did. He wanted Sam to grow up safe and happy, get his degree, meet a girl, travel, settle down, get married, have kids, grow old, die old, die happy… He wanted it for his little brother so badly, but Sam could never be safe out there. Sure, he had the training. He was probably one of the youngest hunters Dean had ever met, or even heard of, but he was good. He could defend himself, usually, but if Sam went away to Stanford, Dean wouldn't be able to protect him. And then there would be this one time where Sam couldn't defend himself enough, and Dean wouldn't be there to help. And-

Dean stopped. He didn't want to think about what could happen to Sammy if he was alone and vulnerable. Dean had to look after his brother. It wasn’t that his dad had told him to. John didn't have to tell him to watch out for Sammy, because it was always Dean's responsibility.

It had been a long day and a very tiring hunt. He was a bit drunk too, which didn't help his drooping eyelids. Sam's heavy breathing was calming, and Dean found himself being lulled to sleep.

As soon as Sam heard the snoring, he opened his eyes and got out of bed slowly. He glanced at his glowing watch. It was three in the morning. His dad wasn't back yet, but Dean was slumped by the door, out like a light. Being as quiet as he possibly could, Sam pulled on his jacket and boots, putting his gun and torch in the pockets. He rummaged around in Dean's open duffel bag for a credit card and a wad of notes, also taking out a small first aid kit. Then he took out a tin of assorted bullets and grabbed the numerous packets of cheap biscuits the motel provided.

The key was in his pocket. Dean and his dad thought they'd left it with reception, and _technically,_ they had. Sam had a way - a thing Dean called his puppy dog eyes - to make women swoon. And oh how the receptionist had swooned. It had been easy to take the key from the boxon the desk. Sam took out the key opened the window, cringing as it creaked loudly. Then he glanced at his brother, looking helpless and forlorn in the darkness. It took everything Sam had not to break down. He imagined pulling him into a quick hug, his eyes smarting. He could stay in one of Dean's strong, warm embraces for ever.

Slowly, he climbed out of the window, glad they had chosen a ground floor room. Then he reached inside and picked up his bag, closing the window gently with the other hand. He turned on his torch and jogged out of the car park and onto the road. He must have jogged a couple of miles before he slowed down to a walk, panting.

He'd left. He'd really left. This was what he'd always wanted; to escape. So why wasn't he happy?

Sure he was happy.

 _You're happy aren't you? You're going to collage man, this is awesome,_ he told himself.

Was he just tired? Drunk?

No.

He'd left Dean. And all he could think about was Dean. His Dean. His brother, all alone. Alone to face the fury that would inevitably ensue when his father found out what had happened.

Oh god what had he done?

 

 

 


End file.
